The street was blocked off by cops and fire trucks. A house was on fire. You could see the flames coming out of the side of the house, and black smoke pumping out of an open upstairs window. The firemen had just arrived and they worked with quick, steady deliberation to get the hoses set up, the house prepped and cleared, ready to stop the flames and smoke. I started to back up the car and retreat the way we came, but Eva wanted to stay. “I want to watch the firemen,” she said without looking at me. She was already glued to the scene. I pulled over to the curb and put the car in park.

Eva started a steady stream of questions. “What are they doing? Why are they doing that? What are they doing now? Why are they doing that. Why did they go in the house? Why aren’t they turning on the water?” I tried to answer the best I could. I figured if it led to another question, I’d done all right. But maybe Eva didn’t care about the answers, only the questions. That wasn’t true.

“How did the fire start?” she said.

“I don’t know. The firemen will find out.”

“Maybe someone started it,” Eva said.

“Maybe, but probably not. It was probably an accident.”

“Like what?”

“Like someone left the stove on, or left a candle lit. I don’t know. Fires can start all sorts of ways.”

“They can?”

“Sure,” I said and thought better of it. “But almost always it’s because someone was careless, or did something they shouldn’t.”

“Why isn’t anyone coming out?”

“I don’t think anyone was home.”

“Will the firemen take things?”

“What do you mean?”

“The firemen take things from the house.”

“They’ll just put out the fire.”

“They steal things,” Eva said. “I saw it on TV. They take things after they put out the fire.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“I saw them,” Eva said. “I saw them take things. Watch. You’ll see.”

So we sat and watched the firemen until the fire was out and the hoses were coiled and put back on the trucks and all the gear was stowed and the men back on the trucks. Everything was ruined in the house, ruined by smoke and water. There would be nothing to take anyway. Maybe some small things, jewelry, silver, coins. I thought about it. Thought how their coats could be stuffed with whatever they found. The trucks left. The house was scarred, a black open wound on one side. Eva didn’t say anything. We went to the park, but Eva didn’t want to get out of the car.

“Would you go into a house that was on fire?” she said.

“I wouldn’t,” I said. “Only if I was a fireman. But I’m not.”

“What if I was inside?”